


Stay The Night

by convexity



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Eventual Smut, First Time Blow Jobs, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Mary-Lou Mention, Mutual Pining, Sassy Credence, Sexual Tension, Sharing a Bed, Sleep Deprivation, Sleepy Credence, Slow Dancing, Suggestive Themes, Sweet Credence, lots of pet names, referenced abuse, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-08
Updated: 2018-11-30
Packaged: 2019-07-28 05:50:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16235474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/convexity/pseuds/convexity
Summary: Credence laughed, cheeks a little flushed.“I don’t know what I’m doing, Mr Graves.”“That’s alright. I do.” Graves replied, taking Credence more firmly by his waist and guiding his movements. Credence’s hands went to Grave’s shoulders. He kept looking at his feet to get it right, half a second behind the music.(Graves takes a very sleep deprived Credence to his apartment so he can lie down. Credence ends up staying the night.)





	1. Chapter 1

Credence looked exhausted. He often seemed withdrawn, or hungry, or cold, but today he looked like a ghost. Graves studied the planes of the boy’s face, high cheekbones pronounced by how thin he was, the dark circles under his eyes shining like bruises.

Graves didn’t want to bring him to some cafe for food and drink or any public place they usually went for that matter. He wanted to take him straight home. _His_ home. Credence had been in his apartment before, briefly, and so he didn’t seem surprised when Graves suggested it. No words, just a bobbing nod, like he was only half listening and didn’t care what happened to him. It was enough.

Graves took Credence by the shoulders and brought him in close to disapparate. When they materialized in Grave’s living room, the warmth of the apartment felt like it was seeping into their bones, a sharp contrast from the biting wind that had been whipping through the street outside. Credence faltered a moment. Graves steadied him.

“All good?” He asked the boy quietly.

“Yes, Sir.”

“I brought you home because you look tired, Credence. Like you haven't slept in days.” Graves continued gently, peeling Credence’s coat from him. The boy lifted his arms like they were tied with cinder blocks, let Graves slide him out of his sleeves. Credence made a little noise in the back of his throat that may have been protest, or an admission that Graves was correct.

“Would you... like to lie down for a little while? I’ll be right here. ”

Credence looked at him slowly, like it was taking a moment for the words to process. Then he nodded. “Please.”

“Good.” Graves told him. “Take your shoes off. Get comfortable.”

Shoes and coats discarded, Graves steered Credence toward his own bedroom. He knew the sofa would not be long enough for Credence to stretch out comfortably.

“Wait a moment,” Graves instructed, leaving Credence standing at the side of the bed while he turned the covers down. The boy looked around, never having been in Graves bedroom before. His gaze moved over the four poster bed of dark wood, the armoire, the bookshelf and armchair in the corner. It felt foreign to Graves, too- Credence waiting to climb into his bed. He motioned with one hand and Credence stepped beside him.

“Alright... in you go.” He soothed, guiding Credence with one hand on his back as he climbed into the bed on Grave’s side. Graves covered him with the thick, plush comforter, right up to his shoulders. Credence’s head settled into his own pillow, and the boy sighed, blinking heavily up at Graves.

“Comfy?” He asked. Credence nodded, the slightest of smiles coming over his features. Graves smoothed Credence’s dark hair, a stark contrast against his pillow. “Sleep if you can, Credence. You’re safe here.”

Credence nodded, nuzzled further into the pillow. “Thank you Mr Graves.”

“ I'll be right down the hall if you need anything.”

 

****

Credence woke slowly, unable to discern how long he had been asleep or what time it might be. He blinked his eyes open, remembering he was in Graves’s bed, in Grave’s apartment. He smelled Graves faintly on the pillow, pressed his face into the fabric. Sleep still clung to him, and he knew if he closed his eyes again he would drift right back down.

Every moment he lay there, heavy with drowsiness, skin against Graves’ sheets, felt like a stolen indulgence, a reward he couldn't remember earning. He could hear music very faintly down the hall, and when he lifted his head to better hear it the smells of cooking food met him, spiced and aromatic. A pang of hunger reminded him of his empty belly, sleepiness falling away just a little.

With reluctance, he climbed out from under the heavy, warm blankets and down from Grave’s bed. His bare feet struck the cold floor and he shivered, already wishing to be under those covers again.

Credence peered into the kitchen and saw a wooden spoon stirring a pot by itself- more good smells. He continued to the living room and Graves looked up from the sofa, smiled at Credence in the doorway, set down the paper he’d been reading.

“Sleep well, sweetheart?”

Credence warmed at Grave’s concern. Normally waking up meant being snapped at about chores or idleness, yesterday’s missteps. Normally he felt almost guilty for sleeping at all. “Yes, Sir.” He answered.

Graves patted the sofa beside him and Credence moved to go to him. 

“It was wonderful, Mr Graves.” He added, wanting Graves to know how much he’d appreciated it. Graves regarded him as he sat down next to him, reached a hand out to touch Credence’s hair softly.

“You look better. I was concerned earlier, Credence.”

Credence stared at his own lap, hands clasped loosely. “I... I overslept on Sunday.” He kicked himself mentally, for the dozenth time. Sunday, of all days to fall behind on chores. “So I had to….Ma made me… uhm.” Credence trailed off, loathe to talk about it. It was painful, firstly, and secondly, it always sounded like complaining to his own ears.

But when Credence chanced a glance, Graves was watching him patiently, brows pulled together in concern, his eyes soft.

“She made me stand. I couldn’t go lie down in my bed, I had to stand all night. For three nights. She sleeps real lightly, she’d come check on me now and then to make sure I wasn’t sitting down or leaning... On the wall or something.”

Graves only shook his head and muttered something grittingly under his breath. Credence didn’t dare ask him to repeat it, and the next moment he reached for his glass on the coffee table and drank the rest of his bourbon down in a swig.

“If that ever happens again…” Graves said to him after a moment, gentle again. “I want you to tell me, so I can bring you here. You can sleep here all day if you need. Hell, I’ll get you a key and you can come here even if I’m at work. Better yet, come here immediately and don’t go through that again. ”

Credence was awed, as he often was, at Grave’s seemingly endless affection for him.

“Hmm?” Graves asked.

“Yes, Sir. Thank you, Mr Graves. I-” Credence stopped abruptly, finding tears in his eyes and his voice suddenly wobbly and unreliable.

“Hey. I know. Shh,” Graves gentled, gathering Credence into his arms easily, like it was the most normal thing in the world. Credence could smell the hint of bourbon on Grave’s breath. He rested his head near where Graves had loosed his tie and unbuttoned his collar, feeling the warmth from the man’s skin, close to touching.

“S’alright, Credence.” Graves soothed him. It was easier to let his tears fall when Graves wasn’t looking at him, when Credence was just pressed against his chest instead. “Is that same punishment in the cards for you tonight?” He asked Credence calmly.

“Yes. It’s the last night.” Credence whispered.

“Remember when I kept you out past curfew, and I had to… patch up your mother’s recollection?”

Credence did.

Graves could make people misremember things, or forget them entirely as easily as Credence could snap his fingers. He was so cavalier about it, like it didn’t much matter to him as long as Credence reaped the benefit. Credence had to admit he didn’t much care either if it made Ma leave him alone.

“How about you stay here with me tonight? We’ll eat some supper and you can get a full night’s rest. That little catnap isn’t enough. I’ll stop by before you even go home tomorrow and take care of it. You don’t have to worry.”

Credence sniffed and nodded, pulling away out of Grave’s arms. “But...are you sure it’s not too much trouble?”

Grave’s eyes were warm when he reached out and dried Credence’s cheek with his thumb. “Trouble?” He echoed. “You have no idea how it’s not any trouble at all, do you my boy?”

Credence trusted Graves, trusted the kindness in his eyes and in his touch, wanted badly to believe what he insinuated with his words.

“If I could- I’d steal you away.” Graves continued. “I’d take such good care of you, Credence.”

Credence didn’t doubt that, and his eyes threatened to fill again. He swallowed.

“But as it is, this is the least I can do. Do you accept?”

Credence nodded, not knowing why he felt like laughing aloud in relief. Graves clasped his thighs with his palms, rose from the sofa and picked up his empty glass.

“How about a drink before dinner, baby?”

Credence savored the endearment for a moment before nodding.

Graves went into the kitchen, and Credence heard the ice box, the sound of the cubes clinking into glass. Graves called back to him over his shoulder. “I have some wine on hand if you’d prefer. _Merlin_ , it must be ten years old by now. Vintage.”

“I’ll have what you’re having.” Credence called back.

 

***

 

Credence seemed better after some sleep, though Graves knew it had not been enough. He wasn’t letting Credence go back home tonight, not if his relentless mother was using torture tactics as petty punishment.

Graves handed Credence a rocks glass and re joined him on the sofa. He wanted to press Credence about why he hadn’t found him when his mother began this new torment but thought better of it. He knew Credence’s relationship with guilt and punishment was a long and complicated one.

Credence sipped his drink, started to make a face and tried to suppress it.

Graves couldn’t help but laugh. “I watered yours down a little. It’s an acquired taste even so, I’m afraid.”

Bravely, Credence took a bigger sip. Ready this time, he kept his face neutral.

“ _Oho_ , that was quick.” Graves teased. “Gonna be pulling you out of the speakeasies soon, huh?”

Credence’s smile was mischievous. “If Ma could see me right now, she would _kill_ me.”

Graves had been ready to steer clear of mentioning his mother, but Credence seemed to be rather amused by this revelation, even a touch proud. He sipped again.

“Easy, honey.” Graves warned with a raised eyebrow. “It sneaks up on you.”

“Doesn’t seem to sneak up on _you_.” Credence replied.

“That’s because I drink too much of the damned stuff. It’s snuck up on me my fair share of times. When I was your age?" He feigned a shudder.

Credence smiled at that, then looked thoughtful. “How old are you, Mr Graves?”

Even asked so innocently, it was a little bold for Credence. Bold was something Credence was usually not. Graves thought he might already be feeling his whiskey.

“Old enough to say things like ‘when I was your age’,” He offered.

Unsatisfied, Credence cocked his head and raised his eyebrows. _Mercy, the boy is nothing if not endearing,_ Graves thought. “I’m forty-one.” He told him.

Credence chewed his lip. “That’s…” His fingers twitched in his counting. “Eighteen years. You’re not even twenty years older than me.” Automatically, he amended- “Than I.”

“Just shy.” Graves agreed, taking a sip. Credence mirrored him, took a sip of his own drink. _Not even_. As if eighteen years wasn’t a lifetime.

Graves gestured vaguely at the phonograph, changing the music from rambling jazz to ragtime. He stood, holding a hand out to Credence, who looked at it with bewilderment.

“Care to dance?” He thought for a moment he had overstepped- that Credence wasn’t as at ease with him as he hoped- even in the complete privacy of Grave’s apartment- but Credence took his hand. Graves led him to the middle of the persian carpet, pulled him close and began to move, one step then another, waiting for Credence to move with him. Credence laughed, his cheeks a little flushed.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Mr Graves.”

“That’s alright. I do.” Graves replied, taking Credence more firmly by his waist and guiding his movements.

Credence’s hands rose up to Grave’s shoulders. He kept looking at his feet to get it right, half a second behind the music.

“This isn’t a class, Credence.” Graves purred, pulling the boy flush against him, making their movements less formal, more rocking. “Relax.”

Credence let his fingers twine behind Grave’s neck. His cheeks were even pinker than before but his eyes were bright.

“There you go.” Graves said, enjoying the armfull of Credence. “I’m not much of a dancer myself, but with you for a partner I could make a few exceptions.”

Credence eyed him like he was trying to decide if he was being teased or not. “You couldn’t dance with me anywhere anyway.” He said, a little self deprecating.

“I don’t think I’ve told you this, Credence,” Graves said, facetious- “but I can do whatever I want.”

He removed one hand from Credence’s waist long enough to produce a sprig of baby’s breath from thin air, white as new snow and delicate as a veil. Credence laughed in delight, inhibitions softened, posture more relaxed than usual. Graves put the sprig behind Credence’s ear and the boy blushed right down to his neck.

 _You’re having a little too much fun with this, old man_ , Grave’s warned himself, even as Credence’s easy delight made him smile. The contrast from when he’d first seen him earlier in the day was remarkable.

“Are you hungry?” Graves asked.

“What about one more drink?”

Graves laughed softly, kissing Credence’s dark hair. “You don’t have to twist my arm, sweetheart.”

They parted reluctantly, Graves untwining himself from Credence and going to the kitchen with both their glasses in one hand, pouring a little more. He watered Credence’s down again, two fingers with some ice. As tired as the boy was, the whiskey would only serve to help him sleep soundly, he told himself.

Credence took his drink gratefully. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Enough with the Sir,” Graves said a little gruffly. “Call me Percival, or Graves.”

“Yes, Sir.” Credence replied, and Graves caught the impish curl of his lips as he took a sip of his drink.

“Incorrigible.” Graves teased.

Credence slung one long, slender leg over Grave’s lap on the sofa, leaned back with his drink. “Is this okay, Mr Graves?”

Graves looked at Credence sidelong, eyebrows hitched in amusement. “Credence. You can make yourself comfortable however you see fit in my home.”

Credence sipped and grinned, scooting further into the sofa cushions and putting his other leg over Grave’s lap, too. Graves squeezed the ball of Credence’s left foot. “You’re a little minx, do you know that?”

Credence’s smile widened. “Sorry, Sir.”

Graves moved his hand to Credence’s heel and squeezed. He didn’t fail to notice the boy’s breath catch, how he stared at Graves with open interest.

“You going to be good? Or do I need to ration your whiskey?”

Credence looked wounded, in play or not Graves wasn't sure. “I’m _being_ good.” He insisted woefully.

Graves caved immediately, ever careful with Credence. “I’m teasing you, baby. You’re good.”

Credence seemed to glow under the praise. He sipped his drink, legs in Grave’s lap. Graves let his hands wander up Credence’s shins, over his kneecaps to squeeze his thighs. “My good boy.”

Credence huffed a breath at that, all mischievousness melted away, his eyes fluttering closed. “Yes Sir.”

Graves reluctantly brought his hands back down to Credence’s feet, massaged the narrow arches, taking any excuse to touch Credence’s bare skin. Sensitive, Credence twitched and whimpered at first, adjusting to Grave’s firm touch on the soles of his feet. He resisted the urge to pull back, instead giving in to the touch till it felt achingly good. 

It seemed oddly intimate, touching the boys bare feet, and Graves thought suddenly how he’d like to massage Credence’s shoulders, his neck, the palms of his hands. He’d like to draw the boy a hot bath and to wrap him up in one of his own housecoats after, massage him until he was pliant and sleepy.

“Come on,” Graves said, tapping Credence’s heels. “Up. Supper time.”

They moved to the kitchen, and Graves served them both a hot bowl of beef bourguignon, a favorite for late winter nights, garnished hands-free with pearl onions, bacon, mushrooms, black pepper. Twin candles in pewter lit the dinner table softly. Graves cut Credence a slice of baguette, crispy outside and soft inside, crumbs littering the tablecloth. The butter dish floated from the counter to the center of the small dinner table. Drink forgotten, Credence waited for Graves to sit down with his own meal before he began to eat eagerly. He paused after a few bites, remembering his manners.

“This is really good, Mr Graves. Thank you.”

“Have as much as you’d like, Credence.”

After they ate Credence cleared the table and Graves put up the leftovers. He stopped Credence with a hand on his arm as he started to do the dishes. With a flick of a finger, he set them to doing themselves. Credence seemed to get lost in thought for a moment, the implication of not having to do housework with one’s own hands.

“Are you tired? Would you like a bath? Or to read for a while?”

“I think I’d fall asleep in the bathtub,” Credence admitted.

“That doesn’t surprise me.” Graves said. “Full belly on top of a little bourbon? I’m gonna have to carry you to bed.”

The logistics of the situation occured to Credence then. “Uhm, Mr Graves? Where will I sleep?”

“Did you like the bed?”

“Oh, yes.”

Graves opened his hands. “Then the bed, of course.”

“I can sleep in your bed with you?” Credence asked, surprisingly timid after how forward he’d been on the sofa before

Graves had to fight to keep amusement out of his voice. “I was… going to suggest I stay on the sofa.” 

“No! I don’t want to put you out.” Credence told him. “And… I think I’d sleep better with you near me.”

“You think so?” Graves asked, a little more sincerely.

“If.. if it’s okay. Yeah. I’d like that.” Credence managed.

“And whatever you’d like,” Graves promised him, pressing his lips to the boy's temple. “-you will have”.

***

 

Graves left Credence out a hand towel to wash his face. He told him he’d made a hasty replica of his own toothbrush for him, too. Credence had marvelled at how real it was, the smooth wooden handle, the wiry bristles. How impossible is seemed that it was conjured from nothing just minutes ago. He brushed his teeth carefully, spit and set it back down. Seeing the twin brushes side by side struck him oddly. A pang filled his chest. The warmth of Grave’s companionship made the deep loneliness and isolation Credence felt in his life seem colder, bigger.

He wondered what Graves had meant when he’d told him he would steal him away if he could. Would every night be like this? Music and rich food, Grave’s tall bed and warm covers, two toothbrushes on the sink? Credence looked at himself in the mirror, dark circles and borrowed sleep shirt loose on his body. He rinsed his mouth with water, turned back toward the bedroom. Graves was already in bed reading. Credence paused, suddenly unsure of himself. It seemed absurd to presume to crawl in bed with Mr Graves.

“You sure this is okay?” Graves asked him, sensing his hesitation. Credence nodded. Graves patted the bed beside him and Credence crawled in, politely settling in on the other side, the side he hadn’t slept on yet. Graves had put him where he usually slept for his nap, he realized. That’s why the pillow had smelled so good to him.

“There you go, kitten.” Graves soothed, holding his book open with one hand and petting the swell of Credence’s hip over the blanket with the other. Credence inched his pillow a little closer to the center of the bed, giving Grave’s an easy reach. Graves took the hint, moved his hand up to Credece’s hair, began carding through it steadily, automatically, still reading his book.

“I’ll turn out the light in five minutes.” He promised.

“I don’t mind.” Credence mumbled sleepily under Grave’s gentle hand.  “This is nice.”

Graves kept petting Credence like that until he closed his book and set it aside, turned out the lamp on the bedside table. The room was dark- only a little of the city’s luminescence bled through the curtain covering the window.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday.” Graves said, positioning his pillow more comfortably and settling in.

“So you don’t have to wake up any particular time?” Credence asked hopefully.

“No. And neither do you. I’ll take you to lunch.”

Credence smiled in the dark, then insecurity crept back in. “You don’t have to. You’ve done so much for me already…”

“Credence.” Graves interrupted. “Stop that. I want to. Let me.”

Credence nodded before realizing Graves probably couldn’t see that in the dark. “Alright.” He said.

“You want to come here?” Graves asked, making Credence’s stomach do a little flip. He scooted over the distance between them, resting his head in the crook of Grave’s shoulder. Grave’s arm around him was a comforting weight.

“M’ glad you’re here, baby.” Graves told him in a voice that suggested he would soon be asleep.

“Me too,” Credence replied, nuzzling even closer so he was pressed against Grave’s warm side. He thought if he wasn’t so tired from the bourbon and the food he might have been unable to sleep in this kind of proximity, might have started to imagine Grave’s hands on him in the dark, how good they would feel. But he was too exhausted to do anything but enjoy being held and let his eyes close. After two long nights of falling asleep on his feet and jolting back awake cold and uncomfortable, this was heaven.


	2. Chapter 2

It had been a particularly bitter November in New York. The bright leaves had all fallen in the first week, leaving even Central Park stark and bare under grey skies. The morning frost crept down the eastern seaboard to the city, bringing winds from the north that howled through the streets and stung any skin it could reach.

  
Graves had first intended to help Credence into his coat before they headed out into the cold. That was until he’d felt the threadbare fabric of Credence’s jacket, the one he’d arrived in the night before. It was light as a housecoat. Shaking his head a little, Graves went into his coat closet, pulled out a silk-lined wool coat with deep pockets and double rows of black buttons on the front.

He held it up for Credence, who looked at him in bewilderment a moment before he understood. He turned around and dipped one arm into the sleeve, let Graves guide him into the other and bring it round his shoulders. 

  
“Mm, I thought it might be a little big.” Graves admitted, running his fingers underneath the collar to fix where it had curled under itself. “But it’ll keep you from the worst of the wind.”  He didn’t fail to notice the goosebumps creeping up Credence’s neck. Whether it was just a chill or a response to his touch, he couldn’t be sure.

  
Graves brought Credence to get a late breakfast, got them a booth against the window. He took off his coat and Credence mirrored him, automatically smoothing down his shorn hair with one hand in case it had been tousled by the wind. Graves felt affection for Credence swell in his chest, an urge to protect him that only seemed to be growing more urgent as time went on.

  
“What’ll you have?” He asked Credence, tilting the menu so it wasn’t upside-down to him.

  
“What’re you having?”

  
“Coffee. I don’t usually eat until afternoon.”

  
“Should I just get coffee too, then?”

  
“Nonsense, not if you’re hungry.”

  
Credence chewed his lip and scanned the menu doubtfully.

  
“Would you like for me to order something for you?” Graves offered, curious.

  
“...Yes.” Credence admitted, looking equal parts embarrassed and relieved.

 

Graves waved a hand dismissively to put him at ease. “My pleasure. You just sit there and look pretty.”

  
Credence reddened, clearly unused to that kind of talk. Graves now wished he had sat on the same side as Credence so he could offer physical reassurance, which was what Credence seemed to crave most and respond to best. He winked across the table at him instead. The boy smiled and ducked his head a little at that, like they’d shared a secret.

  
Graves ordered espresso for himself and milky, sweetened tea for Credence, a frosted lemon pastry and some poached eggs, bacon and sourdough bread and a tall glass of squeezed juice. It was far too much, but this way he’d figure out the boy’s favorites quickly. He realized Credence (unused to much variety in food) would mostly be figuring out what he liked best for the first time as well, a thought that both saddened Graves and made him feel selfishly delighted to be the one to spoil him.

  
As Credence finished reverently eating a little bit from each dish, (always going back for the lemon cake, though) he grew quieter, more withdrawn. Graves thought he might know why, and couldn’t blame him. From what he knew of Credence’s home life- it wasn’t one that inspired homesickness.

  
“What’s wrong, Credence?”

  
Credence gave Graves a little shrug, one shoulder rolling up and his head dipping to the side to nearly meet it, a deferential and almost childlike motion that Credence reverted to when he felt put on the spot.

  
“You can tell me.” Graves pressed, reaching over the table and taking Credence’s right hand, covering it entirely with his own and pressing the pad of his thumb against the soft underside of Credence’s wrist. Was he imagining it, or did the boy’s pulse quicken under his touch?

  
Credence looked at him almost shyly. “It’s nothing, Mr Graves. I was just thinking about going home.”

  
Graves searched Credence’s face for a moment. “You don’t want to.”

  
Credence swallowed. His eyes fell to Grave’s hand covering his own on the table, still gently stroking that vulnerable patch of wrist with his thumb.

  
“No.”

  
“Your mother won’t bother you. She won’t remember anything being amiss.”

  
Credence huffed a breath through his nose, and it dawned on Grave’s what that dry amusement meant. Credence’s mother didn’t need to remember anything being amiss to bother him.

  
“Don’t you miss your sisters?” Graves asked, immediately regretting the tone it took, even to his own ears. Credence’s dark eyes flashed at him in a surprise that quickly soured to guilt. He pulled his hand from under Grave’s and returned it to his lap like he’d been pinched. His jaw twitched as he ground his teeth. Graves sighed and swiped a hand over his face, wondering if maybe he needed another shot of espresso.

  
“Sweetheart,” He said softly, trying to invoke the trust he’d been building with Credence lately. “I didn’t mean anything by that.”

  
“They’re not even really my sisters.” Credence mumbled defensively.

  
“I know that.”

  
A little more fiercely, he added “...and she’s not my mother.”

  
A waiter stopped at their table, cleared Grave’s empty cup, the plate on which the lemoncake had sat that now bore only crumbs. Credence didn’t look up.

  
“Credence, I didn’t say that to wound you.” Graves said when they were alone again. “You don’t owe anyone anything. You deserve better than that place. Than her. So much better.”

  
Credence stared stubbornly at a particular spot on the table, traced the grain of the wood with his fingertip.

  
“Hey,” Graves pressed, allowing a hint of sternness creep into his voice. Credence glanced up quickly, and then back down at his lap, immediately picking up on the change in tone. Graves raised an eyebrow. “Are you upset with me?”

  
“No, Sir....I’m sorry.” Credence backpedaled quickly, automatically.

  
“Don’t be sorry, just look at me.”

  
He did.

  
“What is it, sweetheart?” Graves asked sympathetically, knowing it would be more effective on Credence than his sternness. Credence pouted.

  
“You want to come home with me? Is that it?” Graves offered, watching Credence closely. _You’re a fool for this boy, Percival._ He chided himself. _He’s wrapping you around his finger like it’s nothing._

 

“I... don’t want to impose.”

  
The timid manners were back- but Graves hadn’t missed the glimmer of hope that had crossed Credence’s face. “You’re not.” He said simply. “I want you.”

  
Credence searched his eyes then. Graves let him. He always seemed to find the reassurance he needed there.

  
“I’d like that, Mr Graves.”

  
“Good. I have to run an errand,” Graves told him. “You alright with tagging along?”

  
Credence nodded.

  
“Finish that,” Graves told him, sliding half a glass of pulpy orange juice over to Credence. “You need the vitamin C.”

***

Credence’s face was nearly wind-burnt when they got back to Grave’s apartment. He’d pulled his hands up inside the too-long sleeves of Mr Grave’s luxurious wool coat, but even still they were cold and red. Graves began to move around the apartment, turning on lamps and bidding fire to crackle to life in the mantle from nothing but cold coals. Credence stepped closer, feeling the heat of the flames on his face and clothes. His fingers were cold enough that they tingled and hurt as they warmed up.

  
Soft music began to play from the phonograph near the window. The mournful bay of a violin was joined by another, then a cello, and something else he couldn’t place as the music began to swell and form a melody.

Credence watched out of the corner of his eye as Graves sifted through a stack of mail, wearing his more serious face. The more he saw Graves interact in the world the more Credence realized that serious- stern even, was his standard manner. It was only for Credence that Mr Graves wore that particular smile, eyes regarding him so carefully. He didn’t look at other people that way at all. He used a different voice for Credence, too, softer than anything Credence heard him use in public, at men or women.

  
Graves tossed the stack of envelopes onto his writing desk and joined Credence in front of the mantle, watching how he was tentatively holding his stinging hands out for the flames to warm. He took one slender hand at a time between his own, squeezed gently and brought them to his mouth, blowing hot air onto the red skin. Credence whimpered appreciatively.

  
“Gonna have to get you a pair of gloves.” Graves said, gently massaging Credence’s long fingers, kneading his thumbs into the meat of his palms where they both knew faint scars were etched into the skin. Credence stepped forward so he was pressed against Graves, dropping his forehead onto his black waistcoat. Asking.

  
Graves put his arms around Credence and Credence closed his eyes, feeling almost dizzy at the pleasure of the contact.

“Alright?” Graves asked him after a moment of stillness. His voice was low, deep in Credence’s ear and Credence nodded, pulling away from the embrace before he did something horrible like grind up against him, a thought that wasn’t far from his mind at that moment.

“Sorry.” He said, feeling a little foolish and needy.

  
“Don’t be sorry.” Graves said, not for the first time that day, and touched Credence’s head fondly. “Don’t ever be sorry.” He muttered in afterthought as the weight of his hand slid from Credence’s hair. Feeling bereft, Credence leaned toward the touch as it receded.

  
Before Mr Graves, touch had not been in his known world. He knew touch from Ma, of course, usually corrective or violent, something to dread and avoid. He knew the touch of Modesty’s hand, small and always so hot in his. But no one _touched_ him. He didn’t realize how much he had ached for it until it happened, and he had closed his eyes as if in prayer. And Mr Graves had seen it, had felt it in the way Credence had stilled and tamed. He craved it constantly now, from Mr Graves alone.

In his most private thoughts he imagined it in different ways, ways both chaste and not. Usually the latter was in dreams, dreams that had the same aches and desires of this world, where Mr Graves held him so tightly, where Grave’s hands found him in places and made him feel things that woke him. He’d be spent and panting, dread creeping into his limbs and a mess in his hand, on his sheets. He wondered how this would seem to Graves, if he would be flattered or disgusted, or something else. It was a paralyzing thought.

  
“What do you say I draw you that bath we got too drunk for last night?” Graves grinned. “It’ll really get that chill off you.”

  
Credence thought that sounded really, really good. He nodded and Graves left Credence standing by the glow of the fire as it popped and snapped.

  
***  
The apartment was furnished with a large clawfoot bathtub, half a ton of cast iron all the way from the iron works in Bath, Maine. Graves rolled up his sleeves to the elbow. The hot water pipe groaned and thudded when he turned the knob, reluctant. When the water began to rush from the faucet, Graves stood, knees protesting only a little. After a considerate amount of digging in the medicine cabinet, he found a small glass vial of lavender oil, long ago lost to the recesses of the shelves. He added a few drops to the tub, set out a plush white towel next to the clean clothes he’d brought from his dresser. He was going to go call for Credence when he saw movement in the mirror, turned to see the boy already in the doorway.

  
“Why does it smell so good?”

  
“Lavender. It’s supposed to be relaxing. I suppose that’s why I bought it, at some point.” Graves put a hand through his hair, having come somewhere close to the neighborhood of rambling.

Credence let his temple rest on the doorframe and walked two fingers up the wood absently, watched Graves with the patience of a blinking cat.

  
“Ready?” Graves asked. Credence nodded and pushed off the door, walked up to the lip of the tub, mid-thigh.

  
“You have hot water in the pipes here?” Credence asked incredulously, skimming his fingers along the water. “Or did you...make it that way?”

  
“This whole building has hot water. I can make it any temperature you’d like, though, if it’s not to your liking.”

  
Credence looked at Graves over his shoulder like he was trying to discern if he was being mocked, a look Graves saw from him all too often. He shook his head. “It’s perfect, thank you.”

  
“I’ll leave you to it then.” Graves told him. “Towels right here, some fresh clothes. If you need anything, holler.”

  
Credence nodded, hands already working the buttons of his clothes.

Graves made to leave, turned in the doorway. “And Credence?”

  
Credence paused to look at him, hands frozen on his shirt buttons. 

  
“Relax, okay?”

  
Credence smiled.

  
Graves went straight for the liquor cabinet, no detours. Usually he felt in perfect control of his emotions and thoughts, self-aware to the point of drudgery, but watching that doe-eyed boy begin to undress to climb into his bathtub was a lot to process. He poured himself an ounce, knocked it back and immediately poured another one, this time capping the bottle and fetching some ice from the box.

  
At first, his interest in Credence had been purely good-Samaritan-esque, a desire bordering on paternal (not something Graves often felt) to ensure the boy’s safety. What he hadn’t anticipated was Credence’s obvious and open adoration for him, the way he bloomed at a simple touch, oddly and achingly beautiful, some kind of cosmic absolute joke being played on him by a sadistic and bored god, perhaps. Or a curse.

  
_Don’t even play at blaming this on divine intervention or old curses._ He told himself bitterly. _This is an open-and-shut case of you being horribly attracted to a twenty-three year old. One that needs you to be good to him._  
_Wasn’t_ he being good to him? Credence needed a safe place to stay, to get some distance from that woman who’d had him under her thumb for far too long already. Credence needed love and affirmation, a kind word and a gentle hand. That was all. What danger could there be in the tenderness he felt for Credence? He thought of their little dance the night before, of holding him close and how his eyes had looked when he laughed.

Graves leaned on the counter and sighed, listening to the muffled sound of the string quartet playing to the empty living room. If there was no danger here than why did he fear to tread?

  
****

 

After Credence emerged from the tub in soft cotton pyjamas, albeit a little baggy, he found Graves reading and sipping a drink. Credence was invited to browse the bookshelves while Gaves made him a sandwich, one he insisted on making even after Credence protested. He cut it into fourths and arranged the squares on a plate, set it on the floor where the boy sat with criss crossed legs, back against the sofa, reading a dusty old tome about magical history.

  
“I have fiction, if you’d prefer. Not sure that’s exactly riveting stuff there.” Graves offered with a wry smile, sitting behind Credence on the sofa.

  
“I just found out my mother was right my whole life and that ‘witches live among us’ three weeks ago.” Credence replied, reaching for a square of sandwich and taking a bite. “Consider me riveted.”

  
Graves laughed. He reached a hand down to touch Credence’s hair affectionately. “Your hair’s still wet.”

  
Credence reached a hand up to feel it. “A little.”

  
“Let me dry it. You’re going to catch cold.” Graves knew this was not strictly true, and that he was indulging himself, but Credence agreed.

  
“Here,” Graves said, motioning between his knees. Credence scooted a foot to the left.

  
Graves let his fingers slide into Credence’s black hair, working his fingers along the scalp. Credence let out a little moan, and his shoulders dropped a fraction. This part was completely unnecessary, of course, as Graves could have dried his hair from across the room.

  
“That’s it,” He muttered, always trying to verbally reassure Credence so he might feel more at ease. “Good.” He bid Credence’s hair dry and it did, a thousand little drops evaporating into the air in a fraction of a second.

  
“How about those shoulders? Do they need a little attention?”

  
“Mmm, yes please.” Credence replied. Graves felt warmed by how much trust Credence placed in him. It had increased by leaps and bounds from their first encounters where Credence flinched at every move and could barely look him in the eyes.

He let his hands drop to Credence’s shoulders, started off very softly. He could feel knots in the boy’s muscles, which surprised him not at all. Credence had spent who knew how many years defensive and in pain, and it wasn’t without a toll. Graves applied more pressure, knowing he could relieve some of that tension but not willing to hurt Credence.

  
“Is that alright? You have some knots where your muscle tissue is adhering to itself, more or less. It’s quite common, it can be massaged out. But I don’t want to hurt you.”

  
“S’fine. You can press harder.” Credence said drowsily.

  
“Will you tell me if I’m hurting you?”

  
“Yes.”

  
“You promise?”

  
Credence mhm-ed and Graves pressed harder, digging his thumb into a knot on his shoulder, trying to work it apart. Credence sucked a sharp breath through his teeth and Graves eased off immediately.

  
“No, I’m fine.” The boy protested, turning to look up at Graves, eyes shining. Graves raised his eyebrows.

  
“Please keep going.”

  
Graves started again, easing off the task of working out the knots and focusing more on the enjoyable. Credence let his head fall from one side to the other and when Graves would knead a certain spot he would make another little sound of pleasure, which, Graves was loathe to admit to himself, was an absolutely heavenly sound. He selfishly enjoyed the fact that he was making Credence feel good, that he was the cause of the noises.

  
“Alright?” He asked, and Credence made an exaggerated nodding motion.

“That feels so good.” He said, letting his head fall back into Grave’s lap and giving him a sweet upside-down grin. Graves chuckled.

  
“You get the knots?” Credence asked.

  
“No, we can do that another time. Might be just slightly less enjoyable.”

  
“I can take it, Doc.” Credence said with mock stoicism, head still tilted all the way back in Grave’s lap, neck bared. Graves was beginning to realize how differently Credence behaved when he was at complete ease. He’d seen it last night, too, but blamed the whiskey.

  
“I don’t doubt that.” Graves said, petting Credence’s hair back with one hand and letting his other drift to the boy’s chest, rubbing soothing circles under his collarbone.

Credence closed his eyes for a moment and then pulled away. For a moment Graves was uncertain. Had he made Credence uncomfortable somehow? Had his hand on Credence’s chest- meant to be affectionate-seemed restrictive or intimidating? But Credence stood just long enough to climb onto the sofa and stretch his legs lengthwise. He laid his torso across Graves, who found himself suddenly with a lapful of Credence squirming into a more comfortable position against him.

  
“What’s this?” Graves asked, unable to keep the smile out of his voice.

  
“Nothing. Is it okay?” Credence replied.

  
“Yes. Want me to hold you?”

  
“Please.”

  
Graves encircled as much of Credence as he could in his arms. Credence sighed contentedly with his head in the crook of Grave’s neck.

  
“Mr Graves?” Credence asked.

  
“What is it sweetheart?”

  
Credence’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Could you make Ma forget about me for good?”

  
Grave’s felt that surge of protectiveness that often reared its head around Credence . He chose his next words carefully. “There are many legal… and ethical issues with that. Even just making her forget you were gone night or two, without a sanctioned reason, is neither ethical nor legal, but... small potatoes in the grand scheme of things. You’re more important.”

  
He couldn’t see Credence’s face where it was tucked against him but he felt the boy’s palpable disappointment.

  
“But maybe we can figure something else out.” He added.

  
“Like what?” Credence asked miserably.

  
“You’re not a child, Credence, legally or otherwise. You’re an adult. A citizen. You can walk away.”

  
Credence shook his head emphatically against Grave’s shoulder. “I can’t.” He said in a small voice.

  
“Why not?”

  
“I don’t have any money. Or anywhere to go. She says without her I would starve or freeze, or else end up in the harbor.”

  
Graves narrowed his eyes. “Wait... help me out Credence, how do you end up in the _harbor_ in this scenario?”

  
Credence was silent for a moment, then snorted. “I don’t know? I guess someone would throw me in?”

  
Graves tried not to laugh, but Credence must’ve felt it with his head against Grave’s chest because after a moment he too began to shake with near-silent laughter.

  
“They’re just…” Graves shrugged. “Tossing people in the drink now…My God. I need to notify the department.”

  
“...get a net.” Credence managed, breathless.

It felt good to hear him laugh, Graves thought as Credence regained his composure. He wanted to say something about how his mother was manipulative, used fear and pain to control him, that he didn’t need that. When he looked down to say so Credence pressed up, and their lips met in what was probably, Graves realized later, Credence’s first kiss or at least among them.

Before he could register how soft it was to kiss Credence, how sweet, Credence lost his nerve and pulled away. His hands flew over his mouth and nose like someone who’s just seen a traffic accident or let slip a secret at a party.

“I’m sorry.” He said, muffled behind his hands, eyes wide. “I’m so sorry, I-”

  
“Shh,” Graves soothed, taking Credence’s wrists and pulling his hands away gently. “It’s alright, Credence. I know.”

  
Credence bit his lip, searched Grave’s face. “I’m sorry.” He whispered again.

  
“Don’t be sorry.” Graves told him, feeling like it was becoming somewhat of a mantra lately.

  
“You’re not mad, are you?” Credence asked, looking for more reassurance.

  
“Mad? Oh no. I’m a lucky old man.” Graves said, winking at Credence to put him at ease. Credence smiled crookedly at that, huffed out a rush of air in relief.

Graves couldn’t tell Credence that he’d like to do that again, except slower, and for longer. That wouldn’t do. “ _Merlin,_ Credence.” He brushed his thumb along Credence’s cheek like he’d done a dozen times before. “Where did you come from?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tags have changed, a 180 has been made in this chapter.

Graves was less than thrilled at the prospect of sharing his bed with Credence again that evening.

He could no longer dismiss Credence’s little glances when he thought he wasn’t looking or the way he responded to even Grave’s most trivial touches.

The kiss had confirmed a suspicion he thought he might be only flattering himself with - that Credence had feelings for him. Some sort of feelings, anyway. It was only natural though, really. Credence was a bright and beautiful young man, but that church and that woman he called Ma had done him no favors.

Graves knew he’d become something of a beacon of hope for Credence, a life-line he’d thrown out unintentionally. It was not a stretch that Credence might feel grateful or drawn to him, and the kiss was not much of a reach from one point to another. Still, Graves couldn’t help himself from reliving the moment in his mind, feeling the soft touch of his lips, that brief moment where they met his own and kissed... a brave and tender gesture from Credence.

When he thought of it, he found himself wishing in the sanctum of this private thoughts that he’d had a moment to react. A moment to savor the sensation, to let his hand find the back of the boy’s neck. True, he thought of kissing him back. But that would be to allow it. And Credence had pulled away.

With these thoughts in his mind he thought it would be best to offer Credence the bed and stay on the couch tonight. But he knew the boy well enough by now to predict how he would react. He was sensitive - he’d be wounded. Graves could almost see the expression, like the one the boy had worn briefly in the diner, the hurt and betrayal that flashed over his features.

Graves sighed and ran a hand over his eyes. Maybe he was overthinking it. How much harm could there be in a kiss?

“Mr Graves? Are you alright?”

Graves smiled warmly at the boy. “‘Course, sweetheart, I’m fine." He must’ve been looking as pensive as he felt. "Didn’t I say we were going to have dessert?”

The uncertainty on Credence’s face softened away. “You did, but we didn’t make any.” He answered innocently, sitting up on his knees to make room for Graves as he joined the boy on the sofa. Credence sat back on his heels and placed his hands on his thighs, watching Graves for a reply.

“I could whip something up.” Graves said, barely hearing his own words. He glanced sidelong at Credence, pretty eyed and long limbed...and still watching him curiously, head cocked slightly to the right, all tension gone from his shoulders.

“Like what?” Credence asked quietly, and by the gods his eyes wandered for a moment down to Grave’s collar and back up to his eyes, and he chewed the corner of his bottom lip.

Graves forced his tone to stay light. “Anything you’d like, just say the word. How about-”

He was cut short when the boy lunged toward him with a catlike pounce like he’d been struggling with the idea for minutes and just decided to go through with it. How fast it really happened Graves couldn’t say, his mind felt suspended in tar or a particularly viscous jell-o.

Credence swung one long leg over on the far side of Grave’s lap and settled, straddling him. He looked into the boy’s face and saw apprehension, perhaps a touch of fear. But even as his breaths came unsteady and his hands shook, he laid them boldly on each side of Grave’s chest to balance himself, splayed and trembling against his waistcoat.

Grave’s mind caught up to the moment. “Credence, what are you doing?” He said, gently as possible.

“You liked it before, didn’t you?” Credence’s voice shook almost as much as his hands. “When I…” His eyes went to Grave’s lips. “You didn’t mind. You don’t think I’m a freak.”

“No.” Graves agreed solemnly. “I think you’re a very special young man. Why else would I-”

“You want to kiss me?” Credence interrupted.

Graves gave a small, exasperated sigh. This was too much. He was only a man. “Of course I want to kiss you.”

“Why don’t you then?” It was Credence’s turn to sounded exasperated, but it was the hint of confusion and hurt that made Graves finally lift his hands from his sides where they’d lain in half-hearted neutrality. He lifted them slowly as if not to startle Credence, cupped them lightly on the sides of his face. He had to sit up a little straighter, pushing their groins together, to reach Credence for a kiss.

Credence leaned down to meet it and for the second time that evening their lips met.

Soft. Softer than what he’d re-imagined in his mind. No recollection could ever do justice to the real thing, he thought. If he recounted this a hundred times, each fonder than the last, it would always be a pale shadow of this little moment.

Graves kissed him, feeling the boy’s lithe hips rock on his lap. Did he know he was doing that? Maybe not... but he wasn’t sure. Either way it was doing things to him. He wondered, as bold as Credence was for a kiss, if the reality of the hardness he would soon feel unmistakably underneath him would snap him out of it.

Still he held Credence closer and tighter as the boy opened to him, eager as Graves kissed his reddening lips feverently, licked into the sweet heat of his mouth. Graves moaned despite himself and Credence pulled away, breathless and pink-cheeked. He looked down between them for a moment, then back up through his lashes and rocked his hips again how he’d been doing before.

 _That,_ Graves thought, _was deliberate._

There was no way Credence didn’t feel how fully hard he was. Graves had half a mind to reach to the front of Credence’s clothes and touch him. Judging by the look in the boy’s eyes he would find Credence in a similar state. As it was, he’d already let this go much farther than he’d ever planned.

“I liked that, Mr Graves.”

_I know you did, boy._

 “I did too, Credence, very much.” His own voice was gruff.

“Does this mean you want to…you know…”

Graves raised his eyebrows and Credence suddenly couldn’t meet his eyes. He bit his lip and glanced down between them again. _Mercy._

“Credence,” Graves said carefully “Have you ever…Done that before?”

Credence met his eyes again and his shoulder came up in a little shrug. “Not really.”

“Not really or no?” Graves pressed.

“I mean not all the way. I let someone… you know… once.”

“No, I don’t know.”

Credence squirmed. “I let him put his fingers… in me. That’s all.”

 _Let who?_ Graves wondered immediately but told himself that was certainly none of his business. Still, he was surprised that Credence had any history of that sort at all given the nature of his repressive homelife and the timid disposition it had forced on him. Somehow, despite feeling uneasy about this half-described encounter, he felt less concerned about his role in what was happening. Credece wasn’t just being grateful or naive or confused- he already understood his nature.

Graves reached a hand between them and wasn’t disappointed. The boy was hard inside his clothes, very much so. He gave Credence a squeeze and watched his eyelids flutter.

“I want to.” Graves answered his earlier question. “The question is, what is it that you want?”

Credence seemed heavily distracted by Grave’s hand but managed to quietly speak. “I don’t know. I don’t know what to do. But I want to do it.”

Graves thought back to the night before, when Credence didn’t know the steps to their dance. _I don’t know what I’m doing, Mr Graves._ Credence had admitted, looking for guidance. _That’s alright,_ he’d answered. _I do._

Graves caressed him through his trousers. “Is there anything in particular you think you _wouldn’t_ like to do?”

Credence’s lips parted, eyes closing at the touch. “I don’t know. I could tell you.”

“Alright,” Graves agreed, leaning up to kiss the column of white neck. “How about you tell me yes, no, or maybe so when I ask you if you like something?”

“Yes,” Credence repeated in a breathy whisper. “No...maybe so?”

“Mhm. Yes for yes, no for no, and maybe so… for?”

“For go slow?” Credence guessed.

Graves nuzzled his neck, pinched the skin there with his teeth but didn’t bare down “That’s right. That’s exactly it.”

He pulled away and took the boy by the shoulders where he was still straddling him on his lap. “Or we don’t have to do anything but kiss, if you’d prefer. Especially not right away tonight.”

Credence regarded him for a moment, seeming more coherent now that his erection wasn’t being petted through his clothes. “Please,” He pouted. “I wanna play yes no maybe so.”  He looked at Graves beseechingly, took one of his hands in his own and pressed it back to his groin. “Tonight.”

“Mercy Lewis, Credence.” Graves pushed the boy off of his lap.

Credence scrambled to get his long legs unfolded and he stood on the carpet, watching Graves intently, afraid he’d displeased him somehow. Graves wasted no time changing positions on the sofa and pulling the boy by the hands toward him as he laid back. Credence took his cue and went with him, lying half atop of him and half wedged between Grave’s side and the back of the couch.

“Come here baby.” Graves called.

Credence lit up, scooted up half an inch to he could reach for another kiss. The angle was off at first, and Graves hauled him up another inch easily so he could kiss him properly, just as taken by that perfect mouth as he’d been the first time, and the second… He could feel the boy’s harness against his thigh. The little hip-rocking motions came back as he kissed him more. Credence let his leg drift over Grave’s thigh so he could rock better, his whole body pressed flush against him. Graves pulled away and tugged Credence’s shirt.

“Can we take this off?”

Credence got up on an elbow and shrugged awkwardly out of the soft linen. He helped pull it over the boy's head and let it drop next to them on the floor. Credence’s skin was pale and smooth except for some very old and silver scarring between his angular shoulder blades that Graves noticed as the boy lay back down. He didn’t mention it. He kissed Credence again instead, and touched him with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around his back, caressing over his shoulders and side.

Credence broke the kiss. “Please, Mr Graves.” He breathed.

“Is this alright?” Graves asked calmly.

“Yes!" Credence hurried to answer. "But… can you please touch me?”

Graves tried to hide his amusement. “I am touching you, Credence. All over.”

Credence heard the tone in his voice and whined. “Not _all_ over.”

He pressed his hips obviously into Grave’s thigh. “Please.”

“You poor thing,” Graves cooed, scooting out from under Credence and moving to sit up so he could undo the boy’s trousers. Credence moved to occupy some of the space where Gaves had been, lying flat on his back and watching with naked interest as Graves slowly worked on the buttons of his clothes.

“Yes, no, maybe so?”

“Yes.” Credence replied as Graves peeled down his trousers and underthings in one go, moving them up and away from his belly to free his straining cock. “Oh, look at you.” Graves praised, noting the blush that colored Credence’s pretty chest and neck at his newfound nakedness. Graves didn’t know what he wanted to do first - kiss and suck those pink nipples or the erection that bobbed against his slender belly the color of his blush.

Credence had asked to be touched, very nicely, and the poor boy looked absolutely dying for the attention. His pink cock was leaking, clear precum already dribbling onto his belly. Credence was watching him intently, he realized, his ribs rising and falling with his shallow breaths.

“ _Merlin,_ Credence. Such a pretty boy.” Graves assured him, in case the open hunger with which he was appraised him wasn’t enough.

Credence looked relieved, pleased, and a little shy, all at once.

“Can I kiss you?”

Credence looked at him, confused. “Kiss me?”

Graves nodded, getting in between the boy’s bent knees and laying a hand on the silky skin of his cock. “Here.” He clarified.

Credence’s eyes widened.

“I'd like to, if you'll let me.It feels wonderful, if you don’t know.”

Judging by Credence’s reaction- he did not. The boy choked a nod. “Okay. Please.”

Graves grinned and bent between Credence’s legs, inhaling the lovely warm smell of him, feeling the smooth skin on his face before kissing the side of him, a gentling preamble. Credence jumped and then settled.

“Shh.” Graves said, moving to the head of the boy’s cock, unable to stop himself from lapping that little wetness from his slit. Credence whined, and he hadn’t even started yet.

When he took Credence in his mouth it was clear he’d never felt a sensation like it. Every exhale turned into a pant, his toes flexed and curled. Graves went slow and very deep at first, letting him acclimate, but before long Credence was trying his very best not to buck into his mouth. Graves wrapped his arms around Credence’s thighs and gripped his quadriceps to still his quaking legs.

Credence whimpered as Graves moved faster, letting saliva gather in his mouth and slide messily over the boy’s shaft. The head of his cock was quite sensitive, he could tell when he passed over it, toying. He pressed his tongue on the underside of the boy’s shaft instead, insistent. He felt Credence’s whole body tightening like a spring, kept his rhythm.

He opened his eyes to enjoy the view. Credence’s fists were grasping the side of the couch and the armrest behind him desperately, his head alternated between being flung back while he arched his back and lifting to watch what was happening to him.

“Please,” Credence whimpered. “I’m…”

Graves hummed contentedly at that and didn’t slow his movements, knowing it would not take more than a few seconds for Credence to come. He felt the boy’s thighs flex under his hands, his knees tried to collapse in but were held fast. Credence’s right hand flew between his legs into Grave’s hair, as if half-pushing him away, but Graves wasn’t going anywhere. Credence cried out, his whole body spasming as he came, hot and urgent into Grave’s mouth. He had no qualms about swallowing, not at the moment. He’d lick this particular boy clean until he was screaming if he could.

Credence’s hand had drifted over his face, covering his eyes as he panted and uncoiled from his orgasm. Slowly, Graves peeled it away so he could look in Credence’s eyes.

“You with me?” He teased.

Credence let his hand be removed from his face, albeit a little shyly. “I didn’t know… _that’s_ what that was.”

“Did you like it?”

Credence nodded, looking giddy. “I’ve never felt.. It’s never been that much.”

Graves maneuvered Credence so he could lie back down and spoon with him on the couch.

He realized he was still fully clothed compared to Credence’s complete nakedness and pulled the little blanket from the back of the couch so it covered him from the waist down. Credence sighed contentedly when Graves pulled him close and kissed him behind the ear.

Graves was perfectly willing to call it for the evening but Credence soon pressed his naked hips back, seeing if he could still feel that Graves was hard.

“What’re you up to?” Graves growled in Credence’s ear.

“Don’t you want to... you know?” Credence asked, craning his neck back to look at him.

“You want me to?” Graves asked. He was still hard, and getting harder at the tantalizing suggestions the naked boy pressed against him was making.

“You’ve never done that.” Graves reminded.

“You can show me.”

Graves fumbled under the blanket, unbuttoning his waistcoat and tugging his tucked shirt from his trousers. Credence fidgeted and craned his neck to watch as Graves undid the front of his trousers and shoved them around his thighs. “C’mere, honey.”

He wrapped an arm around Credence’s waist and pulled him very close, positioning himself a little lower so his chest was pressed against the boy’s shoulder blades. With  spell muttered under his breath he produced a slippery substance on his fingers and coated himself  liberally. He didn’t know anymore if Credence was in over his head or not. He doubted if Credence did, either. 

“I’d like to do something a little different, sweetheart.” He said, running a hand over Credence's ass, squeezing that tender flesh gently. “You just have to hold your legs together for me. Do you want to do that?”

Credence nodded over his shoulder. “Yes, Sir.”

Graves didn’t know whether to wince or enjoy that title used in this circumstance. Still, he got a little thrill from it coming from Credence, and pressed the head of his cock against the backs of the boy's thighs.

“Knees on top of eachother,” He reminded. “Pressed tight.”

He pushed forward. “Just like that.” He imagined fucking Credence would be blissful, but this was not too shabby. He liked the lube-wet, soft heat of the boy’s thighs. It felt next-best, a way to fuck Credence without fucking him. “Yes, no, maybe so?” He asked, kissing the silver scars on Credence’s back.

“Yes.” Credence said, a little bewildered but a good sport.

“Once we... have a good long talk,” Graves managed as he slid between the sweet thighs a little faster now. “I might -ah- fuck you for real. Would you like that?”

Credence nodded. Graves reached a hand over the boy’s hips and found him hard again. He started to jerk Credence off as best he could while propped on the other elbow, fucking his thighs. He lost focus under the new touches, and Graves had to stop to haul him back into position by the waist more than once. Credence seemed to thoroughly enjoy being manhandled, second only to being brought to orgasm a second time in fifteen minutes. It wasn't long before he was shaking, sloppy, messy-coming again over his belly and the couch, and it was the sounds he made as he came that sent Graves over the edge, making a mess of Credence's pretty thighs. 

“Good boy,” Graves praised. Credence flipped around so they were facing, tucked his head into Grave’s chest. “My good boy.” He repeated, petting every inch of Credence he could reach, cleaning them both with another quick spell.

“Can we go to bed?” Credence asked after a while, muffled against Grave’s chest. Concerned, Graves tilted his chin up with a finger to see his face. He didn’t look upset, only very sleepy. He grinned at Graves and Graves huffed a laugh.

“Good idea. You want your clothes or you want to wear something of mine?”

Credence sat up draped in the blanket Graves had given him. His eyes lit up. “Something of yours.”

Credence waited while Graves brought him a soft, heather-gray sleep shirt from his armoire that he allowed himself to be helped into it like a prince. Graves held out each arm for him to slide his hand into, brought it over his head and tugged it down. The shirt reached Credence's mid-thigh and was loose at the neck, revealing the jut of his collarbone. Graves smiled at him and ran a hand through the boy's shorn dark hair.

“Get in, you little minx.”

Credence, he thought, looked an awful lot like the cat who got the cream as he crawled into the four poster bed under a sea of covers and drew them up to his chin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you to those who commented and left kudos ily :)

**Author's Note:**

> [ come say hi on tumblr ](http://bastardgirls.tumblr.com/) and leave kudos or a comment if you enjoyed this amalgamation of gravebone cliches as much as I enjoyed writing it lol <3


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